


Following The Beat of His Heart

by dremma



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Background RoboPastry, Freckles gets debugged very early on, Locus is a stalker, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:14:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29845506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dremma/pseuds/dremma
Summary: Wash knows he's paranoid, but something doesn't sit right about Locus just giving them Freckles back with no visible strings attached. He ropes Lopez into bug removal and begins a cautious dance of tests and traps to see if the mercenary is shadowing his steps.
Relationships: Franklin Delano Donut/Lopez, Locus | Samuel Ortez/Agent Washington
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Following The Beat of His Heart

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't find anything that says how many suns Chorus has, so for the sake of this, it's got two. /shrug

“Is this supposed to be an apology?” Washington asked, a hard edge of distrust turning his tone into a growl.

Locus stared coolly at him for a moment before replying, “Is it?” He brushed past Agent Washington and stalked down the corridor.

Wash looked down at the little storage card, the central hole glowing with a faint blue light, the holographic display reading the storage specs. He glanced back over his shoulder at the mercenary’s figure making his way down the hall, soldiers parting for him like the sea, fearful and keeping a respectful distance.

It would be _kind_ of him to rescue the brain of Caboose’s beloved pet. But Wash had a feeling it wasn’t out of the goodness of his heart. There was something extremely wrong on this planet, and he didn’t need to botch their chances of getting both of his teams out of this alive by being careless.

He headed back to the quarters the Feds had granted him and the others, intent on sitting down with some tools and working this ‘apology’ over thoroughly. At the very least, Wash expected to find a tracking device. At worst, perhaps that and a bug and possibly some sort of … oh, maybe a mini-E.M.P. that could be remotely detonated, or something. He didn’t know.

He couldn’t trust any of these people an inch right now.

\--

There had been no shortage of space, but the Reds and Wash had felt better rooming in at least the same general area, for safety’s sake, and peace of mind. Wash passed through a central common area to reach a small room settled in next to three others. 

He took off his helmet once inside, sighing and setting it down next to his work space on the small desk. Got out his tools, and took a closer look at ‘Freckles’. It seemed perfectly normal, as if nothing had been tampered with. What he wouldn’t give for Epsilon to be able to take a look at it, though. He’d be able to find anything wrong quickly.

He peeled some of the casing away delicately, and it removed itself with a small popping noise, revealing a delicate tray of holographic circuitry. There was a small black chip soldered extremely neatly into the corner of the circuitry, however. It was done so tidily that it almost looked like it was supposed to be there. 

Wash sighed, and rubbed his eyes. Sarge and maybe Lopez should be back soon. Maybe he’d wait and see what they thought. He didn't want to remove something that was supposed to be there and fry Caboose's most recent best friend. Maybe not Sarge, although he had an uncanny way with machines despite the mental gymnastics and design chaos that hallmarked all of his work.

He listened closely. A high pitched, melodic voice talking back and forth with a mechanical droning voice. Lopez and Donut were back at least. He stood from the table, and opened the door.

Donut grinned and waved back as Wash waved to get their attention. Lopez’ impenetrable visor slowly swiveled his way. “Hey Donut, Lopez. Uh, if you’ve got a second, I was hoping you could come take a look at something. I think it’s got a bug wired into it but I can’t tell.”

“Sí.” 

“Ooh, what is it? Can I see?”

“Uh, sure, I guess,” Wash mumbled as Donut marched into the room after Lopez anyway, not waiting for confirmation.

“Locus gave me a storage device that supposedly contains Freckles’... well, his ‘brain’, I guess. But I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something wrong about it.”

Donut leaned over the desk as Lopez delicately turned the device over and took a few tools out of a storage compartment in his wrist. “It seems much too small for anything to be stuffed into it!”

Wash bit back a sigh. “Well, I kind of thought so too, but, I don’t know…”

Donut smiled gently at him. Wash’s paranoia was a well-known character trait, but it had gotten them alive out of a few scrapes already.

“Well, I’m sure Lopez can figure it out!”

Lopez let out a staticky sigh. “[It looks modified but this is going to take some delicacy and specialty tools to remove. I will need to take this with me for a minute.]”

Lopez stood up and motioned to the door.

“Your lab, then?” 

“Sí.”

\--

Lopez hadn’t needed the bed that was furnished in his room, so he’d converted it to extra table space by laying a board across the mattress, covered in parts and tools for half-finished projects. Wash raised his eyebrows, slightly impressed. They’d only been here about a week. But maybe when you didn’t have to sleep, you could get a lot more done. 

Lopez motioned him over to a bench hooked up to a variety of soldering and rotary tools and settled Freckles down onto it. Lopez swiveled his head suddenly as Donut wandered in, glancing around at his various in-process works.

“[Don’t touch anything, you idiot. Last time you were in here we needed two fire extinguishers.]”

“Oh, Lopez, don’t worry! I won’t mess up anything!”

“[That’s what you said last time.]”

Wash watched Lopez work on decoupling the chip from the storage device, but tried to keep an eye on Donut anyway.

“Donut, you speak Spanish too?”

“[He pretends to.]” Lopez grumbled.

“Sure do! Took four years of Spanish in high school.”

“Oh, that’s... good.”

“[It is not. He talks to me in complete nonsense and only understands perhaps one percent of what I say.]”

“Uh, sorry, Lopez. I’ve never learned any Spanish. Maybe I should work on that.”

Lopez turned his visor to Wash, as if in surprise, and then turned back to the storage unit. Despite having a photographic digital memory, he couldn’t actually recall anyone ever apologizing for not having learned Spanish to understand him. He filed it away immediately. For reasons.

“Hey, Lopez, maybe we could teach him! Wouldn’t that be fun! A threesome for some Español!”

“[No. You will teach him nonsense and he will not be able to understand my corrections. Stop trying to help, you disaster human.]”

Wash looked like he was trying to hide a smile, however, figuring that Lopez’s exasperated tone in response to Donut was likely out of frustration and perhaps something rude. Not being understood at all for years probably gave him the freedom to say whatever was on his mind without consequences. Well, except for Locus now. He'd understood "alarm" and "bilingual" out of Lopez's startled yelling after Locus had snarled back at him.

“Erm… that’s ok, Donut. Maybe another time, when we’re not in the middle of a civil war with our friends behind enemy lines.” He paused. “Actually, maybe I could find some sort of real-time translator software for our HUDs. That might make things a bit easier.”

Lopez seemed to be looking at him studiously, but considering there was no real face behind the visor, it could have been anything. He was probably projecting.

In truth, Lopez was weighing the ability to say whatever the fuck he wanted to these idiots and have it slide under the radar with actually being able to communicate to them when they’re being morons and needed to be stopped from doing something stupid. It would also prevent Simmons from talking slowly and loudly at him in that way he hated.

“[Maybe.]” He shrugged to communicate the sentiment. “[Anyway, the dog has been treated for fleas. Please keep him safe. I cannot bear the Blue Moron crying about another lost friend.]” He handed the secured storage unit to Wash, who nodded.

“Thanks, Lopez. Do you know what was attached to it?”

“[Unsure. Likely a tracking device. I have taken images of it and will do research.”] He shrugged again, likely all the meaning that was able to reach Wash. He handed the tracking chip to Wash as well, who tucked it into a storage pocket after some thought.

Donut had gotten distracted looking at a Roomba Lopez had been souping up at Sarge’s request. “[Stay away from that, you pink menace. It will break Sarge’s heart if his vacuum robot gets destroyed, and I don't want him crying on my shoulder and rusting my hinges again.]”

“You’re right, Lopez, it is adorable! I wish we’d had one of these in Red base, it would have made cleaning up after Grif SO much easier.”

“Mierda.”

“Thanks for all your help, Lopez. Seriously.” Wash smiled genuinely at him. Lopez gave him a very Sarge-like grunt in return and shooed them both out of his room, shutting the door behind them.

“Lopez is so talented with his hands!” Donut sighed. “I don’t think there’s anything he can’t fix.”

“Well, I mean, he is a robot.” Wash stared down awkwardly at the other robot in his hands, or what was left of him. 

“What are you going to do with the tracking chip?” Donut chirped innocently.

“Tracking chip?”

“Yeah, that’s what Lopez said it probably was.”

Wash sighed. “Well, that figures. And I don’t know. I’ll probably just leave it in my room so Locus thinks I’ve left Freckles in storage for the moment. I don’t really want him tracking our movements, or knowing we took the chip out.”

Donut pursed his lips, peering at Wash more seriously.

“...what?” Wash asked, bracing himself for rebuke.

“You look terrible, mister! Have you not been eating?”

“What?” Wash asked, shaken by the sudden change of course. “I… of course I’ve been eating.”

Donut tilted his head, hands on his hips. “Don’t think you can fool me, Agent Washington. You’re either not eating, not sleeping, or both, and knowing you, it’s _definitely_ both. Caboose would be dis _traught_ if he knew you weren’t taking care of yourself! Stash Freckles away and then I’m taking you to dinner!”

Wash sighed, but smiled, grateful in a way for the bossy assistance that Caboose usually took care of with his bombastic enthusiasm. “Sure. Thanks, Donut.”

“My pleasure!”

\--

Locus stared at the little blinking blip in his HUD overlay thoughtfully, only a vague irritation niggling at the back of his mind. The blip hadn't moved since it had gotten to the sim troopers' quarters. Washington had either correctly deduced that something had been modified about the storage chip, or had stashed Freckles away in his own quarters for safekeeping. Either way, it rendered his plan to track the Reds and Blues' movements impotent for the moment. He sighed, and closed the overlay.

There were other ways to keep an eye on these idiots, but for now he had… other things to do.

Orders had been given out, squads dispatched, deployments made, and shipments accounted for. He made his way through the corridors and out into a wooded area, slipping past part of the fence where it had been pried apart. It was fairly secure, tucked way back behind a hulking building and surrounded by tangles of flora that no one could pass through without making a ridiculous amount of noise.

But it was just clear enough within to be a haven of solace, of _quiet_. Locus could hardly hear himself think sometimes with all of the chatter from the Federal Army soldiers, officers and especially Doyle wittering on nervously like he did. 

He paused, one foot at the edge of the path into the clearing. His scanner had picked up energy signatures. He activated his cloaking immediately. Whoever was there scrambled up from the grass, and Locus heard the click of a pistol being cocked.

“Somebody there?” A pause. “I’m armed, so don’t try anything stupid.”

Locus let out the breath he’d been holding. Agent Washington. He deactivated the cloaking as he stepped into the clearing, staring down at the pistol Washington had aimed at his helmet, nonplussed as if the gun were merely a toy.

“No need for hostilities, Agent Washington. I didn’t mean to startle you,” Locus rumbled, crossing the clearing and sitting in his usual spot, back leaning against a large rock formation.

Wash cleared his throat, putting his pistol away and running a nervous hand through his hair. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

Locus hummed thoughtfully. “I could ask you the same.”

Wash blinked at him, expression falling from relieved to vaguely exasperated. Locus took in all the little details; the smattering of freckles across his cheeks, ghostly scars criss-crossing eyebrows and jaw, dark, sleepless bags beneath his weary eyes. “I asked first,” he said finally, a faint smile tugging one corner of his mouth.

After a moment, Locus decided he could afford to answer. “I often come here for some quiet when the… chatter… becomes overwhelming. I didn’t realise anyone else knew about this area.”

Washington nodded. “It’s certainly hard to find.” He hadn’t relaxed, exactly, but some of the tension in his stance had melted into something softer since Locus had stepped into the clearing. “Well, don’t let me ruin your solitude. I have some things to do anyway,” Wash said, grabbing his helmet and standing up. 

Locus felt a twinge of regret as Washington’s constellation of freckles and tired steel-blue eyes disappeared behind the visor.

“I don’t own this space, Agent Washington,” he said gently, as Wash turned to leave. “You’re free to come here whenever you wish.”

Wash hesitated, then nodded. “Thanks. Uh. See you later, I guess.”

Locus raised a hand in farewell and let his helmet rest back against the rock as Washington’s footsteps faded out.

Normally he’d hate to share a secret space like this with anyone but there was something about the man that called to him, pulled him into his orbit, a certain sort of gravity that felt more normal the longer he was around. And when he wasn’t, Locus wondered how he’d never noticed that it had been missing.

\--

Dressed down for sleep, Wash turned onto his side and grabbed Freckles’ storage unit, studying the holographic specs and etchings stamped into the casing for the millionth time. Locus hadn’t said anything about Freckles since he’d handed him over, and hadn’t given any indication that he knew that the tracking device stayed in his room pretty much 24/7… or however long the days on Chorus were. One of the Fed specialists had sent adjustments to their HUD setups to adjust the clock to Chorusian time when they’d gotten here.

He probably wouldn’t risk pissing Wash off by indicating that there had, in fact, been a tracking device, or that he knew that Wash wasn’t carrying it around as hoped. Wash allowed himself a tiny smirk. There was absolutely no way Locus could let him know that his plan had been rumbled, and there was no way Wash would let him know that he knew. He’d just have to stew in frustration until one of them couldn’t stand it any more.

Besides, it wouldn’t make sense for him to carry Freckles around when their rooms were less likely to get shot up in battle or even training exercises. Caboose would never forgive him if he let Freckles get shot and completely destroyed. No, he was safer tucked away in the storage compartment for now. Maybe if things got hairier here, he’d have to carry Freckles around, and then he’d figure out what to do with the tracking device. Could run some tests to see if Locus would pop up when he carried it around and deviated from his usual routines.

He always woke early, never mind the hour he actually went to sleep, and held himself to a basic exercise routine to wake himself up and keep alert. Put on his armor and patrolled the halls, greeting the night guards as he passed. Maybe he could stray from that with the device and see if Locus followed him…

He set Freckles back down into the drawer of the night table and rubbed his hands over his eyes. If he didn’t at least try to sleep, Donut would badger him about his zombie face tomorrow. He pulled the covers up to his chin and shut his eyes.

\--

Wash opened his eyes, watching the bland ceiling come into focus. Early, still. He felt like he’d gotten some sleep, but his thoughts were still sluggish. He turned his head to glance at the bedside clock. 0413 out of 2800. He sighed. A bit earlier than usual, but he was wide awake. There wasn’t any use trying to go back to sleep now.

He sat up and stretched, activating the voice-controlled lights. Yawned, blinked. Started on his usual routine, mind still lingering on the tracing chip. It was early enough that it might be useless to try taking the chip on his rounds; Locus could still be asleep himself.

He splashed some water on his face, and waffled over it as he dried his face and hands. May as well. He’d find out sooner or later. And, well, they were on the same side right? Best case scenario, they were both paranoid old soldiers who couldn’t trust anyone new. Worst case… well, Locus wouldn’t have any reason to harm him, surely. Doyle would be furious, and Locus would likely lose his meal ticket. They were supposedly all on the same side.

Wash settled his armor back on, and after a moment’s hesitation, tucked the case with the chip into a storage compartment and headed out for his morning patrol.

He didn’t need to patrol. The Feds had guards for that exact reason. It was really just to calm his own nerves, see for himself that there were no active threats or things other people had missed. 

He paused at the usual turn-around point, and stared out at the horizon. The suns were just beginning to poke pink tendrils up into the mist over the jungle. He smiled faintly. Doyle had pointed out a little overlook just near the fence they’d put up where he’d be able to watch the rising suns. 

If Locus _was_ tracking him this early, at least he’d get to see the sunrise.

But as he stepped around the fence, he noticed a tall figure already sitting on a bench, facing the cliff, a thermos of a hot drink clutched in his gloves. His helmet was off, sitting beside him on the bench. 

Wash stopped, taking in the sharp angles of the man’s face, the soft looking dark hair swept back from his temple into a low ponytail, the relaxed set of his storm-grey eyes staring out at the brightening mist above the trees.

“Bit early for a morning patrol, isn’t it, Agent Washington?” Outside of the filter on the helmet, the voice was still deep, but the harsh static overlaying the rumble was absent. “Or did you come to watch the sunrise?” Locus turned his head faintly, but there was a faint smile on his lips. He seemed ridiculously relaxed.

Had he figured Wash would come up here, or was this just something he did, watching the sunrise by himself with a thermos of coffee or tea or whatever? Wash shook himself out of the hazy stupor he’d found himself in.

“I could ask you the same,” Wash said lightly, echoing their earlier conversation at the clearing. He sighed, and removed his own helmet, coming to stand beside the bench. “Just woke up earlier than usual today. Saw the sun starting to rise through the window. Thought it’d be… nice, for a change.”

Locus hummed in agreement, sipping at what Wash could now smell was the strong coffee they brewed in the canteen. He would probably need his own mug or two to really properly wake up for the day.

Locus scooted over on the bench to make room for him. Wash sat, after a moment of hesitation, and watched the suns crawling up over the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pinks and orange. By the time the suns were really up it would be sweltering again, if the heat from the feeble dawn rays were any indication. 

Neither of them spoke for a long while, content to enjoy the silence before the chatter of the day would inevitably start. As Wash got up to leave, Locus nodded in farewell.

“Stop by the canteen first, next time,” he said suddenly, raising his thermos slightly. “I usually start a carafe before the staff get in.”

Wash spared him a small, genuine smile. “Thanks.”

For all his plotting to catch Locus following him, it sure seemed like he was following Locus this time. He’d have to try again. Something different.

\--

Wash started to bring the tracker with him more often, just the tracker, no need to put Freckles in harm's way. And just like dandelions in the grass, Locus popped up in the shooting range, the secret clearing, in the hallways during his evening patrol, falling into step with him on the way to the canteen on the morning patrols…

So far every meet up had been carefully orchestrated and justified to be "coincidence" but Wash wasn't stupid. And honestly at this point it was getting a little annoying. If Locus wanted his attention so badly, he'd have to learn to ask like anyone else.

Well, ok. The mutual Quest for Coffee in the mornings he didn't mind. That one had become something of a ritual, waking up in silence with the sunrise before the rest of the base exploded into noise and chatter. The rest of it though… Wash sighed through his nose, and settled his helmet back onto his armor.

He slipped out into the hallway after lights out, determined to catch the guy in his web of lies once and for all…. and maybe also to get away from the constant bilingual bickering Donut and Lopez were doing more of lately. They were still arguing in the kitchen as Wash left. 

\--

Lopez had _finally_ broken down (metaphorically) and upgraded Donut's visor HUD with both the translating software Wash had mentioned before and a language-learning program set up for Spanish.

"Aww thanks for fixing my helmet, Lopez."

"[Put it on and try it out before you thank me.]"

"Oh, new software too? You really know how to spoil a guy," Donut giggled.

"[Open. the. blue. one.]" He spoke slowly and simply so Donut could catch it.

"Blue one...oh, here!" Donut stilled a bit, realizing it was a translator. Lopez waited to give it time to initialize, then continued.

"You're not as good at Spanish as you think, so I've installed a translator and some learning software to help." Lopez waited, wondering if Donut would be upset. He heard a sniffle, then another.

Donut pulled the helmet off his head and looked at Lopez with tear filled eyes.

Oh, mierda.

But Donut slung his arms around Lopez's neck and hugged him tightly. "Thank you Lopez, this is so sweet! I'll work hard, I promise!"

….mierda… But he couldn't deny it was sort of nice, having someone who wanted to understand him, who only needed a bit of a push to do it properly.

\--

Wash was waiting for Locus at the clearing, far enough from the base lights that the light of the stars and the twin moons pouring down between the leaves was nearly enough to see by. He seated himself atop a flat rock formation near the middle of the ring of trees, closing his eyes and leaning his head back, trying to relax before the inevitable confrontation. The only sounds were the nocturnal bugs and critters shuffling through the underbrush, the chirping of night birds and frogs, and the wind gently brushing the leaves of the trees. Wash glanced at the timer on his HUD. Almost seven minutes… three, two, one...

Wash didn't turn at the footsteps on the path. "Bit late for an evening patrol, isn't it, Locus?" The mercenary deactivated his armor cloaking and stepped into the clearing. Wash turned to look at him finally, and smirked. "Or did you just come to watch the stars?"

"Both are applicable," Locus said smoothly, glancing up at the open ring of sky between the trees.

"You're never out this late," Wash accused.

"I couldn't sleep," Locus countered.

"And you managed to make it here exactly seven minutes after I did, just long enough to make it seem like a coincidence." 

Locus stared. He _knew_. He'd even timed him.

"Surprised?" There was a hint of a smile buried in the static of the voice filter.

Locus thought for a moment. "No." After a pointed stare, he continued, "It was likely you would figure out that the device had been modified." Locus was also not surprised that Agent Washington would use this knowledge and form a trap to catch him in it.

"Why did you think you needed to put a tracker on me when we're supposed to be on the same side?" Wash's tone was more bewildered than accusatory.

Locus scoffed. "As though you trust the rest of us any further," he rumbled. 

Wash paused, and glanced at the clearing floor. So it was just that they were both paranoid old bastards, after all? "Suppose that's fair," he offered with a sigh. He reached up and undid the locks on his helmet, breathing in the cool night air. "Though, if you wanted to track all of us, a single tracking chip wouldn't have sufficed. Only interested in keeping tabs on _me_ , are you?" Wash wondered vaguely if it was a bad idea to tease a very dangerous man who killed for money, but at the same time, watching his helmet turn quickly to the side with an annoyed huff was highly gratifying. 

Wash laughed faintly. "I see. You know, in a way, I'm flattered. I don't think anyone's ever tried this hard to get my attention before. But I don't like being manipulated, tracked, or kept on a leash. Anyone who's tried has met a grisly end." Locus' visor swiveled back to look at him and Wash smirked, imagining the suspicious glare narrowing his grey eyes under the helmet. "However I don't like threatening allies so I'll rephrase my point: you don't need to play these little games if you want to spend time with me, Locus. You just have to ask."

"...I see." There was silence for a few moments, followed by the depressurizing hiss of Locus' helmet as he removed it. "In that case, Agent Washington, would you like to watch the stars with me?"

\--

"You know, you can just call me Wash, Locus. 'Agent Washington' is a bit of a mouthful."

Locus made a noise that was somewhere between choking and a grunt of acknowledgement, and was suddenly extremely grateful for the dark of the night to hide his rapidly reddening cheeks. He managed to clear his throat and mumble, "As you wish." Wash stole a glance at his stargazing companion and bit down a smirk.

**Author's Note:**

> Once I saw the idea of someone putting a real time translator app on their HUD in [Tinfoiljones'](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinfoiljones/pseuds/tinfoiljones) lovely [Red Battalion, Blue Regiment](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29507220/chapters/72691935) it hasn't left my brain. Why couldn't they all have installed something like that for Lopez? Like, yes, I know why, they're all assholes and idiots, but I feel like if anyone was going to suggest it here, it might be Wash.


End file.
